angel with no wings
by Toraptor
Summary: Song Lan had fallen into a familiar misery that hung ghostly off his shoulders. His reality had narrowed down to: "One week to renew universal passport," and "Update Required," and [FACIAL SCAN NOT RECOGNIZED]. All it caps, as though the computer was rubbing salt in the wound. [SLxXXC]


**Notes: SongXiao in space! I've seen a lot of fics where Song Lan waits for Xiao XingChen, but I can't remember any that are in space. Also, writing this really made me question my life choices, realize there is no peak cheesiness i can achieve-it just gets worse-and that i really want to write a Voltron AU. **

**Also, it is MURDER to write for this fandom. You got the tags that need accents in AO3, and everything is funneled into some corner in . It deserves a whole category to itself, but that's just my opinion. Enjoy! :D**

**The title is taken by Owl City's Up All Night. **

* * *

Technology was useless.

Of course, that wasn't quite the truth. Technology had quite a few uses, up to and including the ability to heal impossible wounds and bring flesh to dead bodies without the need of a legendary immortal. However, when push came to shove, for Song Lan, technology was useless.

The only thing it ever gave him was his first headache in hundreds of years, and a lengthy, very improvised description of a pulseless, breathless species with zero brainwaves. It was entered into the universal database, when a planetary border officer noticed his (lacking) life signs.

For living people, technology was very convenient. Song Lan had not been alive in a very long time. It had been even longer since he felt alive.

Yet, it was the day of days to make Song Lan a liar, because he was also feeling _angry_ for the first time since whenever. He was self-aware enough to know he'd had a temper, once. Since his temperament brought everything that wasn't burning down, crashing into an even deeper and darker void, he had cooled into something placid. Too little, too late, was the only platitudes he had for himself on the longest nights. He needed no sleep, so there were a lot of long nights.

His un-life had been rather miserable. One would have thought the moment Xiao XingChen's soul was strong enough to move on, Song Lan would have found a nugget of hope. That would be true, for the most part, were it not for the same old issue: the universe was a very large place, and Xiao XingChen presumably hadn't been reborn on the same planet.

Years ago, when Song Lan took to the skies with fumbling uncertainty, the obviousness of such a rebirth was facepalm worthy. It made sense Xiao XingChen wanted nothing to do with the planet that caused him so much pain.

Song Lan had fallen into a familiar misery that hung ghostly off his shoulders. His reality had narrowed down to: _One weeks to renew universal passport_ and _Update Required_ and _[FACIAL SCAN NOT RECOGNIZED]._ All it caps, as though the computer was rubbing salt in the wound.

The next annoyance that had become commonplace was the holographic advertisement following him down a shiny street, which had been lonely not five minutes prior. Song Lan didn't know _who_ had decided walking advertisements were a good idea, but if he did, he would take one for the universe and put them down. His tattered soul could take one more tear.

That was how he found himself running into a pirate.

Not that it was a pirate such as the ones of old. Nor was it the sort of pirate that raided ships and actually did pirate-y things. Song Lan considered it a pirate, because it dressed in the patchworked leathers and cloths of one who could definitely _not_ afford the computer system built into its helmet. Two luminous red circles where the eyes might have been, and one on the forehead, glowed at him.

It—there really was no way to tell what the gender was, or if it even had a gender, or even cared—pointed at the advertisement. The advertisement gave an odd shudder, as though having a seizure, then shut down abruptly.

Song Lan tapped his wrist, scrawling out a quick, _Thank you_.

It floated in holographic words over his arm in the universal common tongue.

The little pirate gave an odd, half-aborted bow, before nodding.

"They are persistent," the pirate said, voice deep and distorted by the helmet. "Some of them are amusing, though."

A quick scan decoded the same scattered voice to several other parts of the universe, along with the designation _RN48_, gender preference set to male, listed as a freelance mercenary, and baffling criminal record of _zero_. Song Lan had never seen a mercenary without a criminal record.

Even more baffling, his jobs were public. No mercenary wanted the public to know the jobs they'd done in the past. That was asking for enemies to track them down—unless it was a guise to hide the more unsavory jobs. Only, the jobs were all rescue and public service.

Song Lan, fully aware he was being rude and ignoring the little mercenary, continued to scroll through his records.

_No charge._ It swung out of nowhere. The mercenary charged _nothing_. Briefly, Song Lan wondered if he could even be considered a mercenary.

"Do you need help?" said the mercenary out of nowhere, peering at Song Lan around the long scroll of information. It seemed the planets he had visited in the past were trying to piece together a story for him, too.

Song Lan scrawled out, _What?_

"Scroll to the bottom," said the mercenary.

Curious despite himself, Song Lan did as instructed. The most recent entry was from the planet they were presently on: _EMPATH_.

Song Lan didn't hesitate to write out, _You're an empath?_

There was a nod. "I felt you halfway across the city."

He wasn't sure what to make of that. _Do all empaths sense me?_

It wasn't the most tactful way to ask the question he wanted answered. He hoped he wasn't causing misery to all empaths everywhere.

"I'm not sure," said the mercenary. "I haven't really tested my ability to that of others. Still, my offer stands: I'd be glad to help."

One lone mercenary wouldn't solve the quest Song Lan had lived for so many hundreds of years. He didn't bother to sign out his reply, shaking his head.

"Please?" said the mercenary. "If I leave now, I'll still sense your emotions, and I'll feel so terrible leaving it like that."

It was the worst of unintentional emotional blackmail. While some hardened as time wore on, Song Lan had only been softened by it.

_What I am searching for is not so easily found_, he wrote out. He wished his stiff facial muscles could convey how impossible finding Xiao XingChen felt, at times. Wei WuXian had once suggested making use of the little cartoon faces, and Song Lan had very nearly abandoned propriety to smack him.

"What are you looking for?" said the mercenary, shoulders straightening. He was relieved, even if Song Lan couldn't see his face to know. "I'm good at finding things."

_I'm looking for a person_. A person who'd been missing for nearly a millennia, a person whose soul was so shattered that Song Lan wondered if he hadn't truly reincarnated. _I don't know if he's alive_.

"I suppose you've tried the facial recognition database?" said the mercenary.

_Many times_.

"Do you know his age?"

_I can't be certain_.

The mercenary hesitated. His gloved hand was hovering over his own wrist computer. Three luminous red helmet-eyes stared in what Song Lan was absolutely certain was disbelief.

"Species?"

Song Lan hesitated. _Probably human_.

There was a distorted chuckle. "That narrows it down."

Song Lan pursed his lips. _To roughly three hundred million colonies, yes. _

"Give me his physical description," said the mercenary, tapping away at the computer. It was one of the computers that was directly interfaced to his helmet, so Song Lan couldn't see what he was doing. "Height, weight, if you can, facial features."

That was easy. Even after so many years, Xiao XingChen stood out clear as yesterday in Song Lan's mind. Everything, from the fall of his black hair, to the silvery freckles on his nose that had always reminded Song Lan of stars.

"You care for him very much," said the mercenary. It was strange to hear warmth from such a distorted voice. "Don't worry—we'll find him. I'm sure of it."

* * *

They left the planet a few days later. It was only when they were in the ship—Song Lan's ship, because it was nicer and faster, and the mercenary had agreed to sell his own—that Song Lan packed up the courage to write out the question burning on his mind.

"My name?" said the mercenary, sounding very confused. "Wasn't it in my files? There's quite a lot of them. People are nice."

Song Lan nodded, but that didn't cut it. _A number isn't a name _

"Call me RN, then," said the mercenary. Something in Song Lan's expression must have tipped him off, because he added, "Unless you would like to come up with something? I'm no good at names."

A bubble of warmth trapped itself in Song Lan's chest. His stiff face wasn't suited for smiling, but the feeling was very much like it. They had left the planet's atmosphere and entered a temporary wormhole, destination set for the nearest planet in the same solar system, before Song Lan wracked together a passable name.

_Lai,_ he wrote out. It was only a surname, and a popular one, once upon a time. However, he'd let the little mercenary choose his own first name, when he was ready. _Means reliable_.

"Lai," said the mercenary, testing the name out on his tongue. "_Lai_. I like it. What are you called?"

Song Lan had long since stopped giving out his courtesy name. Everyone called him Song Lan, and the few who did know his courtesy name, were about to share it. He kept it secret, knowing the person to utter next, a whisper in the midst of a crowd, a plea across the universe, would be the person he was looking for.

They came out of the wormhole with the newly-minted Lai talking animatedly about names, despite having claimed to be no good at them. In front of them was a colorful world, a unique species of fungus having turned the waters an eye-searing green and blue, filled with forests such a deep blue that they were almost violet. The shattered remains of a meteor belt revolving the planet looked like stardust.

"It must look beautiful," said Lai wistfully. "That's what people say."

_You're blind?_ Song Lan carefully didn't touch his eyes—Xiao XingChen's eyes. He'd met many blind people over the years. Every time he did, the age old guilt reared its ugly head and filled him with every horrible thought he'd already beaten to death.

"For the most part," said Lai, and then tapped his helmet. "This connects to my brain and allows me to see, but only in black and white. The one that included colors was too expensive."

By the time they had landed on the planet, Song Lan was determined to buy a color chip for Lai's helmet. The brief flash of contentment he felt was abruptly doused. Measuring his own clashing emotions was always a chore, but today in particular felt unkind. He couldn't be sure whether the decision was born from guilt, or the goodness people insisted—that Xiao XingChen had always insisted—was in his heart. _Fundamentally, a good person,_ Xiao XingChen told him, a smile curving his lips that hurt as much as it soothed to remember.

He was distracted by the capitol city they debarked in, which looked as though a paint bomb had gone off. Spiraling buildings that weren't very tall, but sprawling out everywhere, surrounded them. It had taken years, but the natives of the planet had coaxed the enveloping forests to make up most of their buildings.

"The first place to start is always in the market," said Lai, with the air of an expert, which made Song Lan want to smile, though he wasn't quite sure why. "I'm sure the vendors will have something to say."

The vendors had plenty to say. Only, they weren't going to say it for free, and neither Lai, nor Song Lan, had anything in way of money. Eventually, they managed to bargain for information by doing odds and ends jobs around the city, which totaled out to spending most of the day running errands. Lai took entirely too much pleasure in the activity, apologetically asking for information in return for their services. Word soon passed that two do-gooders were working for free, and people were tugging at Song Lan's sleeves, grabbing Lai's arm, and—once their names became commonly known—were called out from across whole streets.

At some point, Song Lan realized Lai had gotten entirely distracted from their initial goal. Had he not found the rare, selfless kindness of Lai's soul a breath of fresh air, he might have gotten impatient. As it was, the burning urgency in his chest was offset by the fact he'd been searching for close to a millennia, and Xiao XingChen wasn't getting any closer to found, without or without obsessive dedication to the search. Besides, getting side-tracked helping an old woman find her pet, or buying a little boy sweets, was very Xiao XingChen kind of behavior. He imagined, wherever his old friend was, he approved.

They stopped by an altruistic vendor, who seemed to appreciate the work they were putting into the errands. The vendor, who was bright green and blue and dressed in flowing robes, gave them two long sticks. It was wrapped in a sort of long pinkish toffee, which forcibly reminded Song Lan of a tongue. He restrained a grimace through great effort.

"Thank you very much," said Lai, reaching up to pluck the mask off the bottom half of his face. Pale skin, full and rosy lips were revealed, curved into a sweet smile.

Song Lan's heart did a sideways flip, and he forgot the food. Song Lan forgot everything else, too—the street, the people, the jobs. He wasn't standing on a planet in the middle of a foreign galaxy, but in a bamboo forest so familiar that it ached within him. The leaves were turned silvery under the moonlight, every step stretched a blissful eternity with that white-clad figure at his side, with a gentle voice and a kind smile and such a soul that none had ever seen before, and would never see again.

An unconscious half-step, his body gaining a mind of its own, ripped him from the daydream. The stick of _something_ pink was sagging in his hand. The vendor and Lai were both staring at him, concern on the vendor's face, the mask returned to Lai's. Three luminous head lamps bored into Song Lan's head.

"Song Lan?"

The distorted, gravelly voice anchored him firmly back in reality. He had imagined it. For all of a heartbeat, his imagination spun him into such a hope that, for an equally long heartbeat, he thought he would shatter on the spot.

The vendor reached for him, as though to steady him. Lai stopped them, a gloved hand hovering between the two of them. Song Lan wasn't listening to what Lai said, but it was vaguely apologetic, and so very gentle—even with that voice distorter.

Song Lan turned on his heel and left. He couldn't quite bring himself to look at Lai. The roaming crowds had become loathsome, and he needed somewhere quiet and lonely. With his stiff, cold, and lifeless body, he couldn't fall apart. Not in the way he wanted to fall apart, the way that was full of awful tears, but the silent and unmoving kind of break, where he imagined his soul was turning black and blue from unhealed bruising.

A part of him that was small and selfish wished he still had Xiao XingChen's soul with him, broken as it was. It was something to whisper to, something to cradle, something that understood.

He didn't stop walking until he'd left the city. Once he was in the forest, so colorful and unlike the simple bamboo forests he'd enjoyed from his planet, he slowed his pace. Local wildlife had matted a winding pathway, which he followed in a trance. He wasn't sure how long he followed the path, nor how many turns and twists he'd taken, but by the time he emerged from the forest onto a cliff, the sky was dark and full of stars. A single moon hung in the sky, a large crack down the middle, the sight making him somber.

The ground was littered in leaves, the breeze was cool, and if Song Lan closed his eyes, he could almost imagine he was standing on a familiar cliff. He could picture a scene from over a thousand years ago, two figures sitting side-by-side, bottles of wine between them.

They had talked long about something—Song Lan couldn't remember the conversation in detail—but, he did remember what happened next with clarity that only came from the deepest regret.

"So we've got a sect of our own," said Xiao XingChen, waving a bottle around the valley below them, as though they already had a sect built. He leaned in closer to Song Lan, always a bit of a sloppy, giggling drunk, so Song Lan could smell the wine on his breath. "Daozhang Song, we've got our sect, and imagine they're like a family."

"Not a clan," Song Lan had said, on principle.

"Not a clan," said Xiao XingChen, giving another wave of the bottle. "We've got the sect—"

"Yes, we'll have a sect," said Song Lan, his mouth twitching with amusement.

"That's what I said," Xiao XingChen went on, unaware he'd repeated himself probably a half dozen times in the last hour. "What if they think we're their _parents?_"

Song Lan, who'd been about to take a drink of his wine, choked.

"_What?_" he asked incredulously.

Without an ounce of hesitation, emboldened by the drink, Xiao XingChen shuffled closer to him. Despite remaining seated, he managed to trip over his own robes. Song Lan caught him on reflex. They were so close that it was dizzying and Song Lan wanted to push him away, but _couldn't_, because it was Xiao XingChen and there was starlight reflected in his dark eyes. A madness had gripped him, then, or an undertow of some kind, dragging his eyes to soft lips and pulling him in and in and _urging_.

Only, Song Lan wasn't nearly drunk enough to be brave. He lingered there, so close they were sharing breaths, and a part of him quailed at it.

Xiao XingChen abandoned the wine bottle in the grass, reaching up to Song Lan's face. He hesitated a hairs breadth away.

"May I?" he said.

Song Lan had nodded. Xiao XingChen could have asked for anything, and Song Lan would have agreed.

A calloused hand brushed over Song Lan's face, braced the side of his face, as though he was something precious. Xiao XingChen pushed his long, dark hair off his shoulders, slightly disheveled after the drink and minor fight with a water spirit earlier.

"Daozhang Song—"

"ZiChen," said Song Lan, before he could think better of it. He meant for the words to come out steady and normal, but the night was warm and he felt relaxed. There was a bit too much feeling packed into the one word, an askance and a way out, for one who was too cowardly to take that step himself.

Xiao XingChen smiled, patient, as though he understood somehow.

"Then, you must call me XingChen," he said.

They kissed only once, a couple months later, and Song Lan had found completion in the world. There was no sect to build. No great evil needed vanquishing, no injustice to rectify. There was only the brush of lips against his, always so gentle, the sigh of wind through the trees. It was solid as a dream, their great halcyon hour, and it was never enough.

Centuries later, Song Lan poured over the memories, over and over again. He wondered if they had pushed sooner, if they had kissed that night on the cliff, if anything could have changed. Perhaps, by then, he would have loved Xiao XingChen enough not to yell at him, when the world came crashing down in a rage of smoke and fires. All the same, there was the chance it would not have been enough. Song Lan's mind was a brutal place, especially to himself, and he wondered if they would have broken apart sooner, if the damage would have been irreparable.

Standing alone on that cliffside, with the ghost of Xiao XingChen's whisper in his ear, Song Lan felt the weight of the years fall on him. A thousand years, he'd walked the worlds and waited. A thousand more years, he would walk the worlds and wait, if he had to—a thousand more, and a thousand more, however long it took to see Xiao XingChen again. The night was darker than ever before, a great beast could have swallowed the stars and turned to devour him whole, for all the despair that surged within him.

At the end of the road, he could find himself looking back, a barren path behind him. There could be nothing before him, no turn of the day and no Xiao XingChen, and the pointlessness of eternity would dawn on him. He would have given anything, in that moment, for the briefest sign there was any _point_ to it all.

The empty spirit-trapping pouch in Song Lan's robes weighed heavier than it ever had when it housed a soul.

He waited for the bleakness to roll off him, as it always would, and wondered if there was any point to that, either. Maybe, eventually, those black cracks all over his body would crawl up over his head, and he'd shatter in full.

Lost in the dredges of his thoughts, he almost didn't notice the footsteps behind him. He recognized the gait as his mercenary companion, but didn't turn to greet him. There was a creak of leather, the rustle of cloth. Something hard hit the ground and rolled.

Song Lan was about to turn, curiosity getting the better of him, when a voice spoke and removed all mobility from his limbs. It was rougher than he remembered, torn away through great effort.

"_ZiChen_."

He had no need for breath, but gasped anyway—maybe the world had turned sideways, maybe he'd gone mad, maybe he'd died for a final time.

Song Lan turned slowly, as though seeing would render the truth to dust, as though sight was forbidden. For the first time, he doubted the eyes in his head.

Clad in the patchwork leathers and cloths of the mercenary, pale and trembling, was Xiao XingChen.

It could only be him. Black hair was braided over his shoulder, his eyes were shining with tears. He'd dropped his helmet, which was still rolling down the incline, and Song Lan didn't know why he was aware of that; or how the pain in his chest could have been the end, or the explosive fireworks of all-consuming joy.

Even if he'd had the ability to speak, he would have been speechless. There was nothing to say. Xiao XingChen could have unfolded from moonlight, coalesced out of thin air—solid as glass.

"ZiChen," Xiao XingChen rasped again, as though in pain, and the silence was too much to bear. "_ZiChen_."

Time started moving again. Song Lan didn't quite believe the sight before him, though his traitorous heart was leaping regardless, mindless of the risk. Xiao XingChen's face twisted in sorrow, in a way he'd seen before, and all the tales of caution in the world couldn't have stopped Song Lan. He was breaking, a part of him was chipping away, piece by piece. He thought it was the darkest night finally, at long last, melting into dawn.

Xiao XingChen took a half step closer, hands reaching out hesitantly, and Song Lan really did break. As he rushed forward, abandoned all pretense and dignity and crushed Xiao XingChen to his chest, he realized breaking felt a lot like coming alive.

"I'm so—"

Song Lan pressed Xiao XingChen even closer, doing all he could to squeeze the air out of his lungs. There was a strangled wheeze.

"_ZiChen_—"

Xiao XingChen was warm and blessedly solid in his arms. He smelled of incense and sweets, his hair soft and smooth against Song Lan's face. Another rush of thrilling joy hit him, another turn on a roller coaster he hadn't known he was riding. He picked Xiao XingChen up cleanly and spun him around—because he'd imagined that three hundred times too many not to do it.

And then, at long last, he pulled away. There were words that needed speaking, explanations, and then—and then, he wasn't sure, but the future felt amazing.

Xiao XingChen was trying to get something out, through a watery smile and hiccupping laughs.

"Please, ZiChen, just let me—"

Song Lan already knew what he was going to say. It was a burning certainty, driven by the fact he'd nursed Xiao XingChen's soul to health with his own hands, and felt that terrible guilt.

He wrote out as clearly as he could, with his shaking hands, _It's not your fault. It was never your fault. I'm so sorry._

Xiao XingChen put his hand over Song Lan's, moving in close, so they were standing abreast to each other. He smiled, and the stars seemed to glow brighter.

"When I arrived," said Xiao XingChen, fingers lacing through Song Lan's, "I was fully planning on throwing myself at your feet for forgiveness."

Song Lan was shaking his head before Xiao XingChen had even finished, frustration burning in him. He was about to tap the message again, when Xiao XingChen's other hand brushed against his cheek.

"We'll keep begging each other for forgiveness this way, won't we?" said Xiao XingChen.

_I had no excuse,_ Song Lan wrote out_, I should never have yelled_.

"You were grieving, and I never blamed you," said Xiao XingChen. "Not even for a second. Nor have I ever regretted my decision."

If Song Lan still had tears to cry, they would have flowed. He let his forehead fall on Xiao XingChen's, but still didn't dare close his eyes. One moment passed, and then another, and another—Xiao XingChen's heart was a steady and comforting rhythm. The hand on his cheek moved to push Song Lan's hair back, and bringing them back to that night, so long ago.

Xiao XingChen stopped at the hem of his robes, fingering the edges.

"Frayed," he tutted, as though he was someone's concerned grandmother. He reached down and tugged at Song Lan's sleeves, also coming apart at the hems. "We'll have to get you new robes."

Discussing robes was a level of normal Song Lan had never dreamed of achieving. He almost hesitated doing what needed to happen next, but knew he couldn't let it wait. They would air everything, right there and then. If not immediately, then it wouldn't really be the future they were heading for, but another series of procrastinations.

Song Lan reached up, pulling Shuanghua off his back, presenting the pale, flower-gilded sword to its owner. Xiao XingChen, for his part, drew in a sharp breath when he felt the characters etched into the blade. He was grim, lips thinned, but sadness lurked in his eyes.

"All the time in the world couldn't wash the innocent blood off this blade," he murmured quietly, bowing his head, as though to apologize again. "Is it wrong that a part of me wants to throw it away?"

_It isn't_, Song Lan wrote. He hesitated, before writing the next part, _But please don't. I would like to fight alongside you again, one day._ And then, after an even longer hesitation. _You are innocent, too_.

Xiao XingChen let out a shuddering breath, fingers closing around Shuanghua. He lifted the blade, but his hands didn't shake. The sword looked bigger, somehow. Song Lan realized, when Xiao XingChen attached it with a magnet on his back, that Shuanghua wasn't bigger.

_How old are you_? he wrote.

Xiao XingChen tilted his head in confusion, a motion that Song Lan had almost forgotten, and the familiarity of it nearly sent his into un-beating heart into cardiac arrest.

"I'm an adult," he said. "I'm not sure how old I am, precisely. I've searched for you since I remembered, I swear—"

Song Lan shook his head, adding, _You're shorter._

Xiao XingChen looked startled, before he broke into a smile. "Yes, my kind don't get very tall. Believe it or not, I'm rather tall. I've also…"

He pushed through his thick hair, revealing ears that were tapered into points.

"And my pupils are a bit off," said Xiao XingChen. "I don't know how, exactly, but I know they're not quite as they were when I was human."

Song Lan brushed the flyaway strands of dark hair off Xiao XingChen's forehead and, before he could think better of it, wrote, _Beautiful_.

Drawing in another sniffling breath, Xiao XingChen pressed his hands to Song Lan's face, thumbs roving his cheekbones.

"So are you," he said, trembling with so much emotion, Song Lan was almost worried he'd fall apart at the seams. He lurched forward, as though the gravity had gone all wrong.

Xiao XingChen brushed Song Lan's bottom lip, and then surged up to kiss him.

Song Lan's mind went blank, under the slide of chapped lips against his lips, the press of a tear-stained cheek against his cheek. It wasn't anything like that kiss under the willow. For once, they had nothing to hold them back; Song Lan wasn't rushing to a temple, Xiao XingChen wasn't defeating some great evil. They had only their own pace to match, the warmth of Xiao XingChen's body and steadiness of his hands.

When they pulled away, Song Lan wiped the tears off Xiao XingChen's face, and then stopped at the look of utter confusion on his face.

"I thought—" Xiao XingChen stopped, running his tongue over his lip, kissed raw and swollen. "Well, I—"

He was very pink, Song Lan thought idly, delighting in the simple act of stroking his cheek. Lips and nose and eyes, red from crying and kissing.

"You have a—a tongue," said Xiao XingChen, turning a shade of red Song Lan hadn't known possible in a living being.

Song Lan nodded slowly, writing, _I got in a shipwreck a couple years ago_.

It was more like a couple decades ago, but he wasn't going to pull the long years of waiting into light.

_A local doctor fixed it,_ he finished, _but I haven't spoken in so long, it's…_

The message trailed off, because he had no words for it. He hadn't spoken in such a long time, and every time he thought of it, his throat tightened in a way that was uncomfortable.

Xiao XingChen clasped his hand. "ZiChen, it's fine."

His smile was welcoming and Song Lan very much wanted to kiss him again, and so he did—until another thought occurred to him and he pulled back.

_How are you reading these messages?_ he wrote, frowning.

Xiao XingChen, who'd also been leaning in, was just the slightest bit impatient as he swept his hair back again. A shiny device was attached to his skull, behind his ear.

"I left that one in," he said. "So I could read the messages."

That made sense.

He wasn't patient enough to write that, and responded by closing the distance between them a second time. It was just as gentle, but more exploratory. Song Lan marveled in the way the brush of a hand could make Xiao XingChen quake, the way each moment made the years of waiting and doubting and fearing seem like an instant. Xiao XingChen finally stopped tracing the angles of his face, wrapping his arms around Song Lan's neck in full, and they melded together.

They didn't move for a very long time, with only a cracked moon and the stars as their witness.

* * *

Xiao XingChen was a clingy sleeper. He wrapped himself around Song Lan like a snake, face pressed into the crook of Song Lan's neck, arm cradling the side of his head, their legs tangled together. He also let out little puffing snores, which Song Lan found endlessly adorable, even if Xiao XingChen had been mortified to learn he snored in his sleep. Little mumbles of nonsensical words punctuated the nighttime quiet.

When he squeezed tighter, hands unconsciously feeling for Song Lan's face, running down his jaw, a creeping sadness wrapped cold fingers around his heart. He imagined Xiao XingChen sleeping alone, reaching out for someone who wasn't there.

Those years of waiting had a habit of rushing up on him in the darkness, when Xiao XingChen was sleeping. It was difficult to avoid them, even on a good day, but with nothing to distract his mind, he could have fallen into the same loneliness. Guilt ate him alive, because Xiao XingChen was there and alive, in his arms, and they were _happy_. He was happy, he knew he was, and _yet_—nearly a millennia was not an easy space of time to overcome. Worse still were the moments where he _longed_ for the silence.

He wanted Xiao XingChen, needed him there, and that would never change. The antisocial part of him that was cultivated from loneliness, as though loneliness was a contagion, was always waiting for those instances.

There was another faint grumble against his neck, then Xiao XingChen shifted. His breathing changed, and Song Lan knew he was awake.

"I'm sorry I took so long," he whispered against Song Lan's skin.

He understood immediately, with a grudging sigh, and wrote, _You felt it?_

Xiao XingChen nodded, sounding amused as he said, "I'm still an empath when I'm asleep."

_It was worth every second_, he wrote earnestly. With writing, Song Lan had always felt a emotional disconnect between the words and his intentions, so Xiao XingChen's abilities as an empath was something of a miracle. The only downside of Xiao XingChen knowing everything he was feeling, was that Xiao XingChen always knew what he was feeling.

"It still upsets you," said Xiao XingChen. "Don't hesitate to wake me, ZiChen. You never have to be alone again."

Song Lan pressed his smile into a kiss on Xiao XingChen's forehead_. I can't hide anything_.

The answering hum was languid and drowsy, but then Xiao XingChen was rising, sliding over to straddle his waist. His long, impossibly dark fall of hair brushed against Song Lan's shoulders and tickled his face.

"You really can't," Xiao XingChen agreed, slanting his lips against Song Lan's, who returned the kiss enthusiastically—and made a mental note to put aside their morning plans.

In the months following, they made very little effort to piece together any long-lasting plans. There was always work, always someone who needed help, or an errand, and Song Lan was in some level of bliss beyond cloud nine. It was interesting to watch Xiao XingChen interact with the universe, the way he approached people with the same old kindness he showed in his first life. Between true pirates—the murdering, stealing kind—and skewed politics and space wars that were just as bloody as the ones as old, there was nothing perfect about the universe.

Yet, despite the way all the people living in that universe should have calcified into a horrible sort of hardness, Song Lan and Xiao XingChen were often greeted with exhausted relief. He saw the painful sort of hope, every time they helped relocate refugees, that Song Lan felt upon reuniting with Xiao XingChen at long last.

"We can still make a difference," said Xiao Xingchen.

Song Lan wasn't an empath, but he didn't need to be one, to know those words were for Xiao XingChen, as much as they were for Song Lan.

Eventually, he knew there was no putting off fate. The universe had a way of collecting her due, of ensuring no peace was left untouched for long. He felt it in the passing golden days, a rising tension from something neither of neither man, nor beastly, origin. XingChen seemed to sense it, too, asking roundabout questions and clinging to him tightly at night.

It arrived on a cheerful morning. Not that either of them would be able to tell it was morning, if they looked out the window. Song Lan would see a blanket of empty space, and Xiao XingChen was blind. Song Lan was setting the table, while Xiao XingChen stirred a pot of some kind of strange-smelling food that he claimed was very good tasting. It was native to his homeworld, and Song Lan had promised to give it the college try.

Song Lan considered the back of Xiao XingChen's neck, were a section of his hair was parted, a sliver of pale skin visible_._ Maybe, when the food—whatever it was—was set to simmer, if they were quick about it—

A loud ringing filled the inside of the ship.

Xiao XingChen cringed, clapping his hands to his ears.

The device set in the center of the table gave another wail.

"Who is it?" said Xiao XingChen, setting the spoon aside.

Song Lan regarded the device as though it was a particularly deadly scorpion. It wasn't that he didn't want to answer, it was just that the person on the other side was bound to be _exuberant_, but put it lightly.

_Wei WuXian._

Xiao XingChen crossed the room, standing on the other side of the table. He chewed his bottom lip thoughtfully. Song Lan had had plenty of time to explain some of the happenings of their first homeworld, including what became of Yi City, and Wei WuXian's role in it.

"That's good!" said Xiao XingChen at last, nodding decisively. "I need to thank him—"

The auto-answer kicked in. Song Lan never figured out how to turn it off. He suspected Wei WuXian had programmed it to be difficult on purpose.

A holographic image of Wei WuXian popped into the air above the table. Xiao XingChen shuffled around to stand next to Song Lan, eyes gleaming with excitement. He'd heard much of Wei WuXian, in both lives, and Song Lan knew he was eager to meet the son of his senior fellow disciple, CangSe SanRen.

Wei WuXian took one look at him, and then Xiao XingChen. His mouth twitched and Song Lan hurried to write something out—_Don't be embarrassing_, maybe, or _Please, Xiao XingChen isn't used to your sense of humor, please_—

"So _that's_ why you haven't been answering my messages!" crowed Wei WuXian with a great gale of laughter. He waved someone over, and Lan WangJi stepped into frame. They looked good together, equally dark haired, though Wei WuXian glowed with a youthful sort of enthusiasm, while Lan WangJi was pale and refined. "It's good to see you two! Daozhang Xiao, how's he treating you?"

Song Lan felt that dread creeping up on him, for an entirely different reason.

"I am good," said Xiao XingChen, grinning foxlike, a sort of understanding passing between him and Wei WuXian that Song Lan wasn't sure how to feel about.

"How good? On a level of one to ten—"

"Wei Ying," said Lan WangJi.

"I haven't thought of a rating, yet," said Xiao XingChen.

Horrified, Song Lan realized. Xiao XingChen and Wei WuXian were going to get along like a house on fire, sharing a single braincell, and that was horrifying. The next thing he felt was slightly miffed that he didn't get an automatic rating of _great_.

Wei WuXian's eyes brightened, an idea visibly blinking to life in his head, and he sat upright. "We should get together for a night-hunt! We've got a lot to talk about, Daozhang Xiao—nine hundred and seventy-six years of catch up."

They hadn't discussed the full length of the passage of time, yet. Xiao XingChen sobered at the number, nodding in agreement to Wei WuXian's suggestion. He played with the tablecloth, a sure sign of his nerves, before asking, "How has… my teacher been, all these years?"

Wei WuXian seemed to understand. There was sympathy in his gaze, though he no less cheerful. "She's still kicking. Still on the mountain, too, but I visit her sometimes."

Xiao XingChen's mouth parted, then snapped closed. Song Lan was similarly surprised.

"She's letting people return, now?" said Xiao XingChen, something dangerously like hope in his voice.

On the other side of the hologram, Lan WangJi shook his head. Wei WuXian gave another great, bellowing laugh. "Definitely not! But I visit, anyway. She'll be glad to see you."

Xiao XingChen nodded, but couldn't seem to bring himself to speak. Last time he parted ways with BaoShan SanRen was after he'd broken his oath never to return, on top of which he begged of her to transplant his own eyes into Song Lan. He hadn't been awake after the surgery to know how Xiao XingChen left, whether he stayed long enough to say farewell, or not, but he knew their reunion would be a bittersweet one.

"Anyway!" said Wei WuXian, clapping. "We won't keep you long. You've got nine hundred and seventy-six years of missed opportunities to catch up on."

Xiao XingChen nodded absently, folding and unfolding the edge of the tablecloth.

"And if you need any tips," said Wei WuXian, "positions, recommendations—WangJi and I have had all this time to refine sex to an _art_—"

Song Lan lunged across the table to shut off the call, as Xiao XingChen snapped out of his stupor with a wheeze, appeared to be busting a lung, hugging the back of a chair. Song Lan couldn't muster even the weakest dredges of annoyance at the sight of Xiao XingChen laughing, but he still made the mental note to never, _ever_ leave Wei WuXian and Xiao XingChen alone together.

_The food_, he wrote out, as Xiao XingChen wiped tears of mirth from his eyes.

"Oh no!" he said, darting over to the stove, where the soupy recipe had stopped steaming, and started smoking, several minutes ago. "I've burned it—I burned soup, ZiChen, it's _soup_—"

And then he was laughing again, as though it was funniest thing in the world, and not for the first time Song Lan questioned Xiao XingChen's sense of humor.

Later, as they were putting away the leftover food—which, despite being slightly burnt, _had_ tasted rather good, even if Song Lan didn't need to eat—Xiao XingChen snapped his fingers. He tapped the computer on the wrist, searching up the calendar, and hummed.

"We'll have to return to my homeworld soon," he said. "I almost forgot, it's A-Qing's birthday in a few weeks."

Song Lan remembered the blind girl who'd led him to Xiao XingChen. She hadn't met an end any more pleasant than himself or Xiao XingChen, but braved on even after death. Her soul had healed sooner than Xiao XingChen's, lingering throughout the years, and only moved on when he was ready.

_How is she?_ he wrote, worried.

"She's well," said Xiao XingChen, closing the computer, leaning against the counter. "I think she remembers more than she lets on, but it's fine either way."

One of the many fears that had plagued Song Lan was Xiao XingChen simply not remembering him. It wasn't the act of forgetting, in particular—though meeting a Xiao XingChen who lacked the memory to forgive him would have hurt—but that Xiao XingChen's soul would ache from the pain of his previous life, even if his mind couldn't remember what caused the suffering.

"Anyway, I promised to return when she turns fifteen," said Xiao XingChen. "She wants to travel."

_She can have the extra room, then_.

Song Lan hadn't gotten the ship with the intention of having many passengers. He'd defeated an interdimensional creature that had been terrorizing a meteor colony. They happened to have a fixed-up ship on hand, and insisted he take it. Considering the faltering condition of his old ship, he'd taken it.

They received one last embarrassing call from Wei WuXian, which put Xiao XingChen in stitches again, and Song Lan hung up a second time.

When Xiao XingChen looped his arms around Song Lan's shoulders, he mentally cleared the rest of the day's schedule. There was a brief battle over where, because the kitchen was a hard no, and so was the couch, and the wall, and the floor—at which point Song Lan abandoned pretense and slung Xiao XingChen over his shoulder. Dignity, he decided, had died about five hundred years ago. His hands were too occupied to write that out, and Xiao XingChen was laughing too hard to complain.

Neither of them got much done, nor were they particularly worried about it. Nine hundred and seventy-six years of catch up was serious business.


End file.
